Reality
by JustLittle0ldMe
Summary: [Jean/Marco] Neither boy was weak, both mentally and physically they were of the ten strongest in their trainee squad, however emotionally they were both as fragile as any human being, damned to be born into a world ruled by the fear that Titans coated humanity in.


The air that surrounded his body was the very definition of comfort. It was warm and sincere and cosy; it was unlike anything Jean had felt since he was a small babe, embraced daily by his mother's love. He had not experienced such a feeling in a long while as training had taken up most of his days and Jean's precious time was spent on pushing himself, proving himself and trying _desperately_ to claim one of the available places into the Military Police.

Eyes still closed, Jean shuffled closer to the source of the soothing heat that lay beside him and he grumbled slightly as his body bumped another's. Slowly, his mind began to return to conscious reality yet the only action that he could complete was to pull up the covers a little higher on his body and wrap his legs around the pair that lay beside his own.

A soft voice made his eyes flutter open and his brows furrow in the middle.

"Jean?" Marco whispered. "Are you awake, Jean?"

As Jeans eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could see hazel stones glinting and clashing with the night as they gazed upon his form expectantly; still being half asleep he mumbled a reply and brought up one of his hands up to rub at his eyes.

"Marco? Why the hell are you up at this time of night?"

Even with blackness clouding his vision Jean could make out the blinding purity of Marco's smile at Jean having responded to his question; even though he tried so damn hard not to, he felt his face begin to warm and bees flurry within his stomach. It was an involuntary response to a stimulus that held Jean's affections and very devotion within his grasp, an automatic swarm of sensations that consumed him whenever he gazed upon his lover.

"Couldn't sleep. I kept having these dreams…" Marco trailed off, his smile slowly fading as he remembered the nightmares that had engulfed his mind.

Though Jean could not pinpoint the reason, a sickness began to rise in his throat and in response to Marco's words, he raised his hand until he felt it collide with Marco's own; his thumb stroked the back lightly in a hopeful attempt to bring comfort to the boy he held so dear. Marco's smile immediately took residence on his lips once again and he encased Jean's hand within his own palm. Neither boy was weak, both mentally and physically they were of the ten strongest in their trainee squad, however emotionally they were both as fragile as any human being, damned to be born into a world ruled by the fear that Titans coated humanity in.

They both just displayed this fragility in different ways. Jean was blunt and almost arrogant in his persona, giving individuals the assumption that he was not to be argued with, yet Marco was the exact opposite, balancing Jean perfectly. He was kind and trusting, able to make friends with any person placed on his team and laughing so easily that Jean truly believed him to have suffered no hardships. This, of course, was untrue; however his blazing sincerity was one of the rarest forms of treasure within this rotting world and one of many features that had attracted Jean to Marco in the beginning.

"What were they about?" Jean asked quietly, his eyebrows furrowing seconds later.

For a moment only silence greeted his ears as Marco gathered his thoughts and yet the heat that bound his hand did not leave, did not pull away – if anything it tightened around his appendage slightly, barely enough for Jean to realize that Marco was seeking reassurance.

"Titans mostly – I was fighting them, but no matter how many I killed I couldn't save anyone…" Marco said. "Everyone around me was dying, Jean."

The pain was prevalent in Marco's tone and although displaying weakness himself was unacceptable, Jean could not bear the thought of Marco experiencing such anguish. It ripped at his beating muscle and shredded his very spirit to even contemplate Marco facing that type of situation. Jean would do everything in his power to protect his balancing force. A frown pulled at his lips as he caught the outline of Marco's shape; his face was staring directly at the ceiling, face distant and eyes glazed. From a young age, words and expressing his emotions within them had never been Jean's forte, instead he preferred to show his feelings through actions; as the saying went, it was perhaps the strongest way to articulate his mood.

Grudgingly he pulled away from the loosened grip of Marco's hand and raised his head onto his hand so that his elbow was supporting it; he faced Marco and gripped his chin, gently yet with firm fingertips, shifting his face so that their eyes locked. After a drawn out second he moved his hand up to Marco's ruffled hair and parted his fingers through it.

His black locks separated like water flowing across the banks and the glow of peace and serenity that was associated with such scenery flamed within Jean's stomach. Slowly he ran his fingers back and forth through Marco's hair relaying to him that what had transpired a few moments before were merely visions that his brain had been frantically trying to dispel. After Marco had calmed, his eyes wide and still locked with Jean's own, his lips parted and a small smile twitching at the corners, only compassion present in his orbs, Jean spoke.

"It was only a nightmare, Marco." He said, finally lowering his hand. "Don't worry so much – We'll soon be in the Military Police far away from any titans. Probably doing repetitive work, but at least we'll both be safe and secure in the inner wall."

"Jean," Marco began chastising, his brows creasing subtly. "You know that's not why I want to work for the King."

Jean sighed exasperatingly and once again laid his head on the pillow, still facing his lover. "Of course I do." He mumbled. "But at least I'll know that you won't be in any danger."

Even though his face warmed at having his feelings wisp through the open air, so easily heard, he could not help the throb that his heart gave nor the flutter that followed at seeing the soft look and pleasing smile that graced Marco's face. And yet his stomach dropped.

Marco gave Jean's arm a playful shove with his own and closed his eyes to accommodate the grin that spread across his cheeks. "Hey – I'd be able to protect myself if I was you know." He said, though he could not keep the gratitude and downright admiration out of his voice in response to Jean's words.

Jean smirked. "Oh really? So I'm guessing, since you can actually fend for yourself, you don't need help with your 3D manoeuvre gear anymore then?"

A small pout made its way onto Marco's face, though his eyes still glinted with playful mirth as he entwined his fingers into Jean's own; meshing them together so tightly that neither could break the coils. They were bound in both physical body and spiritual energy.

"That's kind of mean…"

Jean chuckled. "I'm just being practical, I mean if you say you can take care of yourself then you don't need me to help you out all the time, right?"

Amused at their banter, Marco shook his head as far as the pillow would allow and then shuffled closer to Jean so that no space resided between their bodies and stole their precious surrounding from them. His lips neared Jean's ear and Jean could feel the heated breath caressing his lobe; it was comforting, unnaturally so and a pang of…_something_ fired through his body, burning him.

Jean was relaxed and began to lull into a graceful slumber, closing his eyes slowly at the warmth that his partner resonated, until Marco spoke again.

"Jean…" Marco whispered softly. "You forgive me don't you?"

Half lidded eyes gazed at Marco as his words registered in Jean's mind and he snorted softly in response. "Forgive you? For what?" he asked. "If you're talking about spilling your porridge down my shirt this morning, forget about it. I already said it was fine."

Marco did not reply and silence engulfed the pair. Softly, Marco nuzzled into Jean's neck and brushed his lips against the soft skin as Jean slowly drifted into blissful unconsciousness and his mind became at rest once more.

"I'm sorry Jean." Marco murmured brokenly. "So sorry…"

But Jean did not hear Marco's words.

The air that surrounded his body was the very definition of bitter. Jeans body felt cold and no matter how many times or how tightly he wound the cover higher, he could not chase away the icy chill that had settled within his stomach and spread throughout his very bones – crawling through his skin and freezing everything in its wake.

Reaching out, his hand traced the space next to the one he occupied underneath the pull-over. Feeling nothing but cold sheets, his eyes began to open and his blurry vision gradually began to focus and settle. Jean's mind, still being torn between unconsciousness and reality, created a word on the edges of his lips, which as he spoke created daggers within the recesses of his gut that sored through his blood stream at an alarming rate and pierced his heart with irrepressible agony.

His eyes shimmered as the bucket of fiery reality was poured onto his skin and burned through his surface, searing his muscle and cartilage. Jean could not think. He could not move. He could not breathe. For everything had caught within his chest and time had completely halted. The earth which spun on its axis inside the endless cosmos had ceased its movement.

And as he bit into his lip viscously, tearing the flesh and ripping the barrier and trying so _damn _hard not to cry, not to shed the tears or release the sobs he so desperately wanted to escape, his heart completely broke in two once again; fracturing beyond repair, unable to be whole as it once was.

They say that time is a wonderful healer, whom takes pity on any individual mourning their dear ones, however Jean knows that this belief is utterly fabricated – absolutely untrue. Time had never healed the gaping wound within his soul, time had never pitied him for the anguish he had had to endure; time, like reality and existence, was undoubtedly cruel.

Jean was alone. Entirely and irrevocably alone.

The person he so desperately craved and yearned for; needed more than oxygen and food and liquid, desired more than laughter and security, coveted more than silver and gold and crown jewels, was dead.

And as one lone tear escaped his will power and slowly slid down his now pale cheek, he brought the pull over to his lips and bit into it, hastily muffling an unrestrained sob. "Marco…" He whispered into the sheet. "Marco, I'm so sorry – please forgive me…"

But Marco did not hear him, for he was long gone from this world.


End file.
